


Speaking of Truth

by Restingheartface



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Cheers to you Celine Dion, F/F, Will update tags as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Restingheartface/pseuds/Restingheartface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, Lexa Mesman pulled out of testifying in favour of ADA Marcus Kane's case against notorious human trafficking and drug king pins, Dante and Cage Wallace. The move cost the prosecution their case, and lost Clarke her job at the DA's office. Now, sitting across from each other in the conference room at Blake, Griffin & Kane, it's clear that a couple of things have changed in the interim. But maybe not everything.</p><p>
  <em> Well, fuck me.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello,” the blonde said smoothly, extending a slender hand. “Anya de Graaf. And my associate, Lexa Mesman.”

Bellamy Blake took the hand and shook it firmly, inclining his head to Lexa. Both de Graaf and Mesman were tall, and would probably have looked intimidating even if they dispensed with their tailored suits and heels. But their smiles were polite and their eyes engaging: this was not a confrontation, after all.

“I’m not sure if we’ve met…” he began, showing them into the conference room. “You may know my sister – she just started an internship at your firm. Octavia Blake?”

“Ah, Octavia,” de Graaf acknowledged with a curt nod. “Your sister is nothing to snark at. We very much look forward to working with her.” The tone implied she hoped Bellamy shared his sister’s constitution.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, nodding. “Listen, we sent over a brief the other day; I hope you had a chance to look it over?”

Both women nodded as they selected seats on the near side of the long table, facing the large window that overlooked the city below. 

“Obviously this kind of case is not of the sort we typically deal with,” he explained with an apologetic smile. “Having said that, the Niagara family are very important clients of ours. They demand the best legal representation, and it is our understanding that you are the best, Ms. de Graaf.”

Lexa glanced sidelong at her mentor, but Anya didn’t acknowledge the compliment, which Bellamy took as a plus. _Not cocky,_ he thought. _That’s good._

“Celine Niagara,” de Graaf specified, arching an eyebrow. “Not the Niagara family.”

Bellamy nodded. 

“You should know that Celine Niagara is not particularly fond of our firm,” she added coolly. “She may not be interested in having us consult on a case relating to her family. If you and your associates had discussed this consultation with your client, you would know that.”

“And you, Anya, would not be here if you thought for a moment I couldn’t smooth over any residual professional differences.” 

De Graaf turned at the new voice, with a cordial smile on her face. “Clarke Griffin, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” she greeted sarcastically. “I think the last time I saw you, you were half-drowned in tequila shots and singing some mangled rendition of ‘God Save the Queen’. Delighted that you seem to have recovered.”

They shook hands and pulled each other in for a chaste hug. Bellamy was more than a little shocked by de Graaf’s display of what appeared to be genuine affection for his partner. “Clarke… You have met Anya de Graaf,” he said slowly, as the two turned their attention back to him. “Allow me to introduce her associate, Lexa Mesman. Ms. Mesman, meet Clarke Griffin.”

The dark-haired woman took a few long strides towards Clarke, adopting a pleasant smile and extending her hand. Clarke blinked, perhaps surprised de Graaf wasn’t flying this one solo, before accepting the hand in her own. “Lexa,” she acknowledged, not unkindly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ms. Griffin,” Mesman replied, still smiling. “The pleasure is mine.”

***

Clarke Griffin had not seen Lexa Mesman in four years. At that time, Clarke had been working for Marcus Kane, an assistant district attorney in New York. The opportunity had arisen thanks to her lawyer mother, Abby, who had put in a good word for her at the DA’s office. Kane had spent most of that summer trying to build a solid case against Dante and Cage Wallace, CEOs of the Weather Security Corporation, but also notoriously connected to human and drug trafficking rings on the east coast. 

Lexa, for her part, had been a pivotal witness to the prosecution’s case. Her father had been coerced into the Wallaces’ operations, and Lexa herself had important information that would have allowed Kane to put both Dante and Cage away for good, as well as many of their top criminal associates. 

Clarke had worked extremely hard to convince Lexa to provide testimony on the case. Extremely hard. Raised in a family that was heavily involved with crime, Lexa had not been quick to trust anybody, but Clarke had managed to bring her on side, and with her, several others.

But as the case became more airtight, Cage Wallace had gotten increasingly paranoid about people running their mouths. He hadn’t known that Lexa was bolstering the prosecution’s case, it had been a lucky guess – Lexa had arrived home one night to find her father strung upside down from the ceiling with his throat slit like a pig at the slaughter. 

The murder had a disastrous effect. Most of the corroborating witnesses, in fear for their lives, had pulled out immediately. Though she had been grieving, Lexa had agreed to continue her support as the case went to trial, staying with Clarke at the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Finn Collins. 

The night before she was due to testify, they had stayed up late with prep. Finn was away for an environmental science conference in Frankfurt, so they had been alone in the apartment, but for Clarke’s overly-emotional cat. 

It had been nice. While Clarke was becoming increasingly nervous about the following day’s proceedings, Lexa had been calm. She had made dinner almost expertly, a talent Clarke had welcomed, but not expected from her. Before they finally headed to bed, Lexa had taken Clarke’s hands in her own and thanked her for being such a great support to her before, and after her father’s murder. And then she had kissed her. And Clarke had kissed her back.

Just one kiss. One kiss, until, remembering herself, Clarke had pulled away. 

“Lexa…” she had said, “Lexa, I… can’t…”

“I know,” Lexa had been apologetic. She had accepted the distance, but kept hold of Clarke’s hand, no hard feelings. “I know, I just… Thank you, Clarke.” 

It was a small smile she had offered Clarke then, but it had wiped away the awkwardness. Then they had bid each other goodnight and gone to their respective rooms. Clarke had tossed and turned much of the night, her dreams plagued with trains of murder, cats, and that unexpected kiss. 

When she woke up the next morning, Lexa was gone, and she had taken the prosecution’s case with her. Dante and Cage Wallace had been released immediately with the court’s apologies, and their promise to sue the city for defamation. When Clarke had eventually arrived home that night after being given her marching orders by the DA’s office, she had found a message from Lexa in her voicemail:

“I’m sorry Clarke, but the duty to protect my family comes first. May we meet again.”

Cage Wallace had gone down shortly thereafter for sloppily attempting to have Kane and Clarke killed. He had taken his father and their enterprise down with him. Had they survived long enough, they might have seen their sentences compounded by droves of people coming forward about their underground activities, but as it turned out, neither had many friends in prison. They were both lynched on the same day in their cell unit a month after their joint sentencing.

Clarke didn’t blame Lexa for leaving. Yes, she had lost them the case, but it was resolved in the end anyway. Yes, she had gotten Clarke fired, but Clarke had bounced back and was none the worse off. And yeah, maybe if Clarke were to stretch, she could find a way to blame Lexa’s disappearing for Cage Wallace’s attempt to have her killed. But ultimately, Lexa had done what she had to do to protect herself and her mother, and who knows who else. She had had four years to get over it, and sitting across from her now, Clarke was, more than anything, just happy to see Lexa alive.

She snuck a glance at her as Bellamy dove into the details of the case at hand. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that swung slightly as she nodded along to what Bellamy was saying, green eyes trained on him intently. She was calm and composed, and despite her background and the tattoos Clarke knew were hiding beneath her blazer, Lexa didn’t seem at all out of place. Not that she should have. When Clarke had known her, she had displayed a shrewd, highly intelligent nature that would have fit her in well among lawyers. 

That she now found herself as an associate under Anya de Graaf, one of the top criminal defence attorneys in the country, was also a good fit, given Lexa’s history and Anya’s own knack for picking unpolished talent. It was Anya who had plucked Clarke herself from pre-med and encouraged her to enter law after Clarke had taken her criminal law seminar as an elective credit. And now here she was, a partner in her own firm at the age of 28. Gaining Anya’s mentorship was a bold stamp of approval in Lexa’s favour as an attorney.

Clarke became aware that Bellamy had turned the floor over to her when Lexa’s eyes suddenly flickered to lock on her own, her lips curving almost imperceptibly as she realized she had caught Clarke thinking about her. She swallowed and nonchalantly leaned back in her chair, recrossing her legs under the table. If Bellamy and Anya noticed the brief interaction, there was no indication.

“Yes, so essentially why we have called you in is that we are a little out of our comfort zone here, Anya,” she continued from where Bellamy had left off. “We are more than capable of looking after Celine Niagara’s corporate interests and investments, but criminal disputes of the nature we are dealing with here are out of our wheelhouse.”

“‘Criminal disputes,’” Anya laughed, “is that what we’re calling ‘murder’ these days?”

“Echo Niagara didn’t murder anybody,” Bellamy interjected sharply.

“Well, for someone who is innocent, she’s looking pretty damn guilty, Mr. Blake,” Anya sighed blithely as she shuffled through her notes with her eyebrows raised. “Seriously Clarke, I’d love to tell you this is going to be easy, but on first impression, your girl is looking good for this.” She shook her head. “I’ll need you to send over all the files you have collected on this case, and everything of relevance you have on Celine. You’re sure she has agreed to my representation?” She looked up quickly to confirm.

“Yes,” Clarke leaned back with a shrug. “Celine may not be your biggest fan when you are on opposite sides, but whatever your differences in the past, she’s put them aside because she loves her daughter. The duty to protect her family comes first.”

As Anya returned her attention to her notes, Clarke shot a glance at Lexa. Her jaw had tensed at the choice of words, but she nodded appreciatively.

“Uhhhhhhm… Yeah, okay,” Anya set down her pen and snapped her folder closed. “I’m not going to promise you anything just yet, but send over the files. I’ll see what I can do.”  
They all stood and made their way to the door. As Bellamy and Anya made their way through, Clarke felt Lexa’s hand slither briefly into her own and press a small fragment of paper into her palm. Lexa held her gaze firmly for a moment before following Anya out of the room.

Stepping into the hallway, Anya turned back with a final thought.

“Oh, and Clarke? I’m going to need you to set up interviews with Echo, Celine, and…” she flicked the folder open again to skim it quickly, “and Ontari.”

Bellamy drew back in surprise. “Ontari? Why?”

“Because, Mr. Blake,” Clarke could tell Anya was becoming a little exasperated, “as Ms. Griffin has already indicated, family is important to these people. I’d like to know how important before I try to pin this on your girlfriend’s little sister.”

“Echo’s not my – what?”

“Divide and conquer, Mr. Blake!” she called as she and Lexa left them in the doorway. “You can thank me later.”

Bellamy crossed his arms and they watched the pair stride down the hall towards the elevator.

“She doesn’t like me all that much,” he observed.

Clarke patted him on the shoulder in mock-sympathy. “Bellamy, most of us don’t.”

He sighed and nodded with resignation to the fact and made his way back to his office, none the worse off. Clarke took one last look down the hall towards the elevator, just in time to catch Lexa’s eye as she stepped into the lift. 

_Well, fuck me._


	2. Chapter 2

Lexa smiled to herself as she felt her body fight the fall. Blake, Griffin, & Kane was located on the 48th floor of the 103-story building, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that there were few stops on the way down to the ground. 

As a general rule, she didn’t like elevators. They were inevitably found in tall buildings inhabited by people in business wear that made them sweat more than they were comfortable with. Self-consciousness drove them to add new scents to mask the natural ones for the sake of public propriety, only to find that those angered their bodies into sweating even more. Today though, Lexa decided that she didn’t mind elevators at the Empire State Building, and that she minded even less where those elevators led to.

She had been surprised when Anya had told her who was asking them for a consult. Before Lexa had silently ended Marcus Kane’s case against Dante and Cage Wallace, Clarke had been well on her way to an esteemed career in criminal law, or so Lexa had thought. A part of her had been relieved to hear Clarke had switched course for the safer field of corporate law instead, but the reaction was a knee-jerk one: corporations, as the Wallaces themselves had shown, were rarely far from the criminal world, and as far as Lexa was aware, the Niagara family was no less shady in that regard. 

So, not much safer, then. Wealthier, though. Lexa had noted early that the firm was furnished with real flower bouquets. They had also apparently opted for expensive green initiatives, instead of the cheapskate methods of cutting down on paper and electricity use, which were really just a feel-good face plastered over a struggling budget. No, Blake, Griffin, & Kane was a top-notch law firm and it showed. 

Clarke had also looked good to Lexa’s eye. Much of her was the same as it had been four years ago: same golden blond hair, same bright blue eyes, same face – if a little thinner from too many long nights. There was a greater sense of confidence about her however, the kind of self-assurance that came with young success. It was in the way she carried herself, never hurried but always efficient. When she spoke, she was now considered where she had previously been agitated. In the last four years, Clarke Griffin had grown up, and grown up well.

When she and her mother had left the country for Europe on the morning Lexa was due to testify, she had known the size of the mess she was leaving behind. It wasn’t until she returned to New York with a law degree of her own and an enthusiastic mentor in the form of Anya that she had learned the full details of the fallout she had caused. A part of her had wanted to contact Clarke to explain, to _apologize_. But that was not a conversation Lexa had known how to have, so she had reluctantly let it lie. Though she wasn’t entirely surprised, Lexa was relieved to see that Clarke had bounced back with such fervour.

That said, there were two things Lexa had surmised this morning that _had_ surprised her. The first, when she had reached out and shaken Clarke’s left hand was that despite her professional success, Clarke Griffin was neither married nor engaged to be. Lexa wouldn’t have expected that realization to stir anything inside her, but she didn’t ignore that it had. It whispered of an opportunity to take advantage of second chances, and for the rest of that meeting, the memory of the first had slowly burned in the pit of her stomach. The second surprise had come when she learned catching Clarke thinking – _reminiscing_ – over the same thing, and realized that maybe that feeling was not quite so one-sided this time around. 

“So, what do you think?” Anya asked as the elevator slowed to a stop.

“Too soon to tell,” she replied, stepping out into the lobby. Art Deco. Clarke liked art, she remembered. “I’m curious though. What do you reckon?”

“I think Clarke is trying to lose us our jobs on a case we can’t possibly win. That girl holds a grudge like a champ. I swear, she still hasn’t gotten over that ‘B’ on her Manson case study from second year.”

Lexa rolled her eyes and nodded her thanks to a man who held the door as they exited the building. “It’s been years, Anya. I’m sure she’s had more than enough time to get over it. And besides, we’re going to do it anyway.”

“Well of course we are, Lexa,” Anya hailed a cab. “Have you ever been able to refuse a blonde anything?”

“Yeah,” she replied sardonically as she slid into the backseat beside her mentor. “A second date.” 

Her mobile phone buzzed in her pocket, and Lexa wondered if that pattern was about to break.

***

Clarke spread the small piece of paper face up on her desk before withdrawing and leaning back in her chair. She studied at the digits for a while before reaching tentatively for her mobile and tapping the number into her contacts:

_Lexa_

_1-917-537-5788_

That finished, she returned her phone to its original position. It was a New York area code, but one of the new overlay ones, making it harder for her to discern where it was localized. She wondered if Lexa still lived in Manhattan, or if she had moved to a different borough. She wondered if Lexa’s mother lived with her. She wondered if Lexa’s mother was even still _alive_. Then she wondered if she should be wondering at all. 

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “ _Fuck!_ ”

She was startled by a knock at her office door, and her assistant, Harper entered.

“Clarke, your mother is on line 2,” she announced cautiously, uncertain if she was interrupting something. “Better make it quick though, your 2 o’clock with Jaha is coming up.”

Clarke sighed and leaned forward, tracing an irritated eyebrow. “Do you know what she wants?”

“No,” Harper shrugged. “Seemed to be in a good enough mood, though.”

“Okay… I’m going to need you to grab my notes from my last meeting with Jaha, and the studies we got from the people at MECHA.”

Harper gave a pert nod and retreated back to her desk. Clarke picked up the receiver on her desk and opened line 2. 

“Hey Mom,” she greeted warmly. “Look, I am heading into a meeting in a couple of minutes, can I call you back?”

“Yes, Harper said, and I won’t keep you,” Abby’s tone was all business. “I sent you some documents about this Lumina Project you guys are dealing with. Mostly studies from some competitors in the field. You and Marcus might want to have a look at them.”

Clarke clicked open her email and found a message with a number of attachments from her mother.

“Uhhhhm… yeah, I’ve got it here –” she started waving through the glass wall at Harper to get her attention. The assistant looked up from her computer and nodded as Clarke indicated she was printing something. “Can you give me a brief overview? My meeting is with Jaha, I’m not going to have time to read these right now.”

“I only looked through the abstracts myself, but the conclusions are all positive. The only negative one is the one from Reyes and Green, who apparently found the drug and therapy combinations worked no better than a placebo. In some cases there were some negative side effects which the other studies did find, but in significantly lower quantities.”

“Reyes and Green from MECHA, yeah, we brought them in a couple of weeks ago for a consult,” Clarke said as she jotted down some notes. “Kind. Sympathetic. Intelligent.”

“Exactly the kind of people you _won’t_ want on the stand,” Clarke could hear Abby nodding along with her own trail of thought. 

“And _exactly_ who will be brought in by anyone trying to take this down,” Clarke replied. 

“Are you going to take them down?”

“Well, we don’t really have a choice,” Clarke mused. “If the Lumina Project is a bust, it will tarnish ALIE Enterprises’ reputation… If it is actually going to cause harm to patients, we have an even larger issue here, and could be looking at a class action lawsuit before the product even goes international. So yes, we’re going to take them down.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to remember you’re supposed to be the good guys here. Make sure Thelonious Jaha remembers that too.”

“When was the last time corporate pharm were the good guys, Mom?”

“I’m just saying, try to keep it honest.” There was a smile in her voice. “Anyway, you need to get going. We’ll talk later, okay? You’re coming for dinner on Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!”

“Okay, I’ll see you then, sweetheart – love you!” Abby hung up.

Clarke sat idly with the phone still pressed to her ear and staring at the small fragment of paper that still lay smoothed on the desktop. Reaching out, she picked it up and tracing the rough edges with a finger. 

_Keep it honest._

She remained in that state until Harper came in with a couple of files and pointed at her watch. Time to go.

“Okay, thanks,” Clarke said, straightening up awkwardly. “See you Sunday… Love you!” She hung up the receiver a little too quickly and stood, picking up her notes, her mobile, and the scrap before taking the documents Harper offered. “Thank you,” she smiled. “No problems finding any of it?”

“No, it was all right where you left it,” Harper said, looking at her curiously. 

“Perfect.” She proceeded down the hall briskly, praying all the while for the nerve to pull her shit together as she tucked Lexa’s phone number into her pocket.

_Later._

***

It was nearly eleven before Lexa finally found herself sagging against the wall of her apartment elevator. Anya had given her the distinguished task of reading over the first wave of files Bellamy had sent over on the Niagara case. She had spent the entire day – and night – sifting through interviews and witness testimonies, making notes and connecting to precedent cases in the process. When she eventually ran out of patience – and Chinese food – she had constructed a reasonable list of preliminary defence strategies, none of which were likely to be used. But that hadn’t been the point of the exercise anyway.

As she watched the numbers counting up, she checked her phone, yet again. No messages. No missed calls. She sighed.

_It takes as long as it takes._

The elevator braked at her floor and she dragged herself from the wall and into the hallway. She had half a mind to take off her heels and pad the rest of the way barefoot, but the pride she told herself she had too much of refused to relent. By the time she got to her door, she was near certain she would need to have her toes removed, if there was anything left of them. It was on nights like these that she wished she hadn’t made the mostly prudent decision of renting an apartment so far from the lift.

Jamming her key into the lock, she made her way into the dark foyer and closed the door quietly behind her as she stepped out of the devilish shoes. Thankfully, the delicate skin on her feet was well-used to the torture of high-heels, and there were no blisters. The joints would be aching tomorrow, though. 

She made her way into the kitchen and dumped her bag on the table before retrieving a mug from the cupboard. Going to the fridge, she filled it halfway with pineapple juice and watered it down until it was nearly full. After placing it in the microwave, she draped her blazer on the back of a chair and sat down on the tile floor with her back against the base cabinets. She dozed until the microwave started beeping angrily at her, at which point she heaved herself off the floor and retrieved the cup and her mobile before making her way into the bathroom.

Ready for bed though she was, Lexa opted for a hot bath first. She wove her fingers through the running water absently until it was hot before plugging the tub, stripping off her clothes and settling in as the water level rose. She had always found the feeling both tantalizing and tranquil the way the water slowly crept up her body. Setting the mug and her phone on the ledge of the tub, she lay back and relaxed into the sensation, letting her mind wander. 

Inevitably, it returned to Clarke. Specifically, the way Clarke had shifted uncomfortably under her attention. The flush that had stolen up her neck, unnoticed by Anya or Bellamy. The look on her face as Lexa had stepped into the elevator at the other end of the hall. Her thoughts turned to older memories a moment later, and, shivering as she let a hand trail down her inner thigh, Lexa found herself entirely uninterested in stopping them.


	3. Chapter 3

_The teeth at her ear were insistent. They tugged the skin eager and wanting, and before Clarke sensed the pain, the lobe was sucked into a warm mouth and caressed by a gentle tongue. She sighed into the sensation, relishing the touch of fingers tracing down her jaw. It was selfish, to delight so helplessly in the careful attentions, but Clarke didn’t know how to bring herself back to ground as she registered dark whisperings that sent shivers keening down her spine._

_The fingers at her jaw then became a hand cradling her neck, a thumb plotting her collarbone. The teeth soon followed the hand’s path south, now a tongue, now the rumour of lips fluttering down her throat. Clarke found herself remembering to breathe as the hand slid delicately between her breasts and splayed across her stomach, where butterflies erupted in anticipation. The palm was firm, and she could feel the rhythm in her belly pounding against it as the mouth made its way to her breast, dark hair slithering down her neck in its wake._

_She didn’t have time to pay attention to the rough edges of the tongue that teased at the bud; as soon as her nipple was drawn into the hungry mouth, the hand was moving again, a slow and deliberate journey down, ever pressing. As it progressed, the butterflies were replaced with a gratifying pulse through her core, and Clarke parted her legs that the fingers might make their way even further down. They met with no resistance; Clarke knew that she had been wet for a while._

_Never stopping its attentions at her breast, or the broad, firm strokes at her crux, the body hovering over her shifted slowly until it had gained a more strategic position between her thighs. A sudden nip of teeth was the last sensation she recognized at her breast before the body on top of her was moving up against her, the mouth returning to her neck, and a second hand smoothing possessively up the back of her leg. Two of the fingers between her thighs slipped inside and she arched off the bed, grinding down hard on the heel of the hand. As she did, the hand at her leg drove up her lower back, and suddenly Clarke found herself forced upright against her lover’s body, her head drawn back as open-mouthed kisses scorched across her throat._

_She careened over the edge and clutched wildly at the head so eager at her neck, her fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls. As she came, her lips parted under the weight of a low, vibrant moan, and, taking advantage of that opening as she had every other, Lexa licked into her mouth._

Clarke woke suddenly as a cynical paw swatted her across the face. 

“Fuck – Charlotte!”

The cat sitting on her chest glared at her and let out an irate yowl. When Clarke didn’t move to get out of bed, the paw issued another swift jab to her nose.

“Okay! Jesus Christ, I’m up! Get the fuck off me, you stupid cat!”

 _I should have let Finn keep you, little fucker_ , she thought bitterly, wriggling out from under the tabby, who continued to protest loudly. 

She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed, and there was a rush of blood to her head, and she necessarily lay back to wait for the dizziness to pass. Shielding her face from another barrage, she decided that if any of these left a mark, she was exorcizing the demon from her home for good. Surely there were better options of bedfellows. 

Padding down the hall to the kitchen, she bit her lip and tried to exorcize _that_ demon, too. It had been three days since Lexa had lodged herself firmly back into Clarke’s mind, and this morning, as in the previous two, efforts to banish her proved entirely futile.

***

Lexa ignored the ache in the balls of her feet as she picked up the pace and turned up the sound. The first five minutes of the run were always the easiest.

_One: take control of me?  
You’re messin’ with the enemy… _

The next ten were comfortable. 

_Said it’s two: it’s another trick  
Messin’ with my mind, I wake up… _

And the subsequent five were when her body and mind started up the internal debate of taking a break. 

_Chase down an empty street_  
_Blindly snap the broken beats_  
_Said it’s cut with a dirty trick_  
_It’s taken all these days to find you._

Lexa lived for greeting that threshold and the exhilarating feeling of her will overpowering the complaints of lazy legs. Even now, she felt the barrier approaching and steeled herself against it. Focusing on the music, she slipped into the struggle, welcoming the burn in her calves. A tightness spread through her body, urging her to slow down a little, to stop and stretch, to stop and just _stop_ , but she ignored it. 

Sure enough, five minutes later, her body stopped remonstrating with her, and settled itself into the remaining thirty minutes of the run.  
It was always like that for Lexa: easy at first, then the challenge, the rise to meet it, and then the equilibrium. The body and mind were selfish creatures, but they always sought agreement. Tension was created when they disputed each other, one wanting one thing, the other, something else. Lexa was glad her mind was the stronger of the two; it benefited both in the end. 

Her phone rang as she made her way into Central Park. She brought the mic on her earbuds to her mouth before answering. 

“Morning, boss,” she replied.

“Morning, Lexa.” Anya’s voice was clearer than her own. Lexa didn’t know what time her mentor woke up every morning, but it was evidently earlier than her own 6 AM alarm. “Listen, I am going to need you to head over to Blake, Griffin, & Kane today, you’re not on any other cases, right?”

“Uhhm…” Lexa gave it a quick thought. “Well I was supposed to be sitting in on Indra’s depositions today… Did something come up?”

She could see Anya waving the previous commitments away in her head. “Yeah, you’re off that now, I have been called into court to take over representation for a new client. I need _you_ to go over and deal with this Niagara thing.”

“What Niagara thing… We haven’t even taken the case yet?”

“Actually, we did.” If Lexa was waiting for an explanation, Anya didn’t give one. “Look, it’s nothing big, Clarke managed to wrangle Echo Niagara into coming in for an interview at 10 this morning. I don’t know if she will be there on time or not, but you are going to be there for 9. Got it?”

“Got it,” Lexa confirmed, making a mental note. “Anything you want me to push for in particular?”

“Just get a general sense of her. If she brings up her sister, water the seed, but do NOT be the one to plant it. We are early stages here, we can’t have them clamming up on us before we have a chance to suss out a descent strategy… So play nice.”

Lexa smirked. “Don’t I always?”

“Nope. I’m serious, Lexa, be nice.”

There was commotion on the other end of the line, and Lexa wondered if Anya could possibly be anywhere but at home at 6:30 in the morning on a Thursday. 

“Okay, I need to run. Text me with updates. And don’t piss off Clarke.”

The line went dead before Lexa could respond, and her music returned to its original volume. 

_I tell you I want you._  
_I’ll tell you I need you._  
_The blood ain’t on my face._  
_Just wanted you near me._

***

Clarke tried – and failed – to balance her coffee on top of the case files in her right hand as she answered her mobile and pushed through the doors into the lobby. It was a rookie mistake. The cup tipped its scalding contents down the front of her blouse cynically before dropping innocently to the floor, utterly empty. 

_I am_ this _fucking close…_

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Anya, if you are calling to cancel our date this morning, I will launch a javelin through your fucking skull.” As good an opener as any, at this point. She shook her head helplessly as a man in the crowd headed for the elevators glanced back at her in disbelief with a muttered “What the fuck..?” before continuing on his way. 

“Good morning to you too, Achilles…”

“Anya…” Clarke moaned.

“Okay, so I’m cancelling our date this morning.” Clarke groaned loudly, earning a couple more stares from other passersby. “I know, I know, but as consolation, you get my lovely associate Lexa instead!”

“ _Shit._ ”

“Huh?”

Clarke looked to the heavens as she stepped into a crowded elevator and prayed for it to plummet once it reached a suitable height. “Sorry, I – uh – ran into a – something – Why are you not coming?”

“Called into court last minute. But seriously, don’t worry, Lexa is all over this – we’ve been reading over the case files for days, and discussed potential strategies yesterday.” _Bullshit you did, Anya._ “I told her to get to your office for 9, which is approximately… now. Where the hell are you, Griffin?”

“In an elevator. In coffee. In pain. I don’t know. I’ll be there in a sec –are you sure she’s got this? Celine agreed to your representation, not Lexa…” 

“Clarke, it will be fine. Echo will be less threatened by Lexa than she would be by me, anyway. And Lexa is very good at getting information out of people, which is what we need right now. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Anya, I swear to God –”

“Javelin, I know. _Goodbye_ , Clarke.” Anya hung up.

Gritting her teeth, Clarke shoved her phone into her trench coat pocket, the remnants of her coffee dribbling off her lapel. She sighed and glanced around at the boisterous elevator’s other occupants, and found solace in the sympathetic smile of an elderly woman to her left. She was probably the one responsible for the elevator smelling like an Elizabeth Arden counter, but she had kind eyes, and Clarke wasn’t picky. The doors opened on the 37th floor a moment later, and half of the elevator’s occupants, including Liz Diamonds, disembarked. As she stepped out of the lift, the tiny woman gave her a little wave. 

The perfume stayed for the next couple floors, the elevator stopping at each one to pick up and drop off passengers. It took almost ten minutes to make it to the 43rd, at which point Clarke had had entirely enough. Strong-arming her way through the crowd, she made for the stairs instead, wishing she had had the foresight to wear a more sensible pair of shoes. 

When she pushed through the door into the stairwell and noted the ten small flights of steps she would have to climb, however, she elected to throw all caution to the wind, and kicked off her heels before beginning her ascent. She pulled out her mobile as she climbed and dialed Harper’s desk phone. She answered on the first ring.

“Good morning, Clarke!”

She wanted to grumble something about it not being a good morning at all, but couldn’t bring herself to break her assistant’s mood. “Good morning, Harper,” she replied. “Listen, I am on my way up now, but I’m running a little late for a meeting with Lexa Mesman from De Graaf & Associates… Could you please show her into my office when she arrives?”

“Ms. Mesman is already in your office; she got here about fifteen minutes ago,” Harper answered slowly. “You’re not going to be too much longer, right?”

Clarke checked the time on her phone. 9:12. Anya had always been a stickler for punctuality; it hardly surprised Clarke that Lexa had become one too. “Not much longer, I’m just a couple floors down.”

“Okay, I’ll let her know. Anything else?” Clarke could hear that Harper was making her way into her office.

“Yes! I need you to check in my closet for a change of clothes and meet me at the… _south_ stairs.”

“The stairs..?”

“Yes, Harper, the stairs.”

“Ah. So not such a good morning then, huh?”

“Harper!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there in a few.”

They ended the call as Clarke rushed past the door to the 45th floor. By the time she finally reached the 48th floor two minutes later, she was winded and had a stitch forming in her side. Catching her breath, she slipped off her trench and stood under the cold air of an overhead fan for a few moments before her body decided it was warm enough to start sweating. Then, she slipped back into her heels, and, summoning a dignified temperament, stepped through the door into Blake, Griffin, & Kane to find herself face to face with a small, cocky smile, and a pair of alluring green eyes.

“Hello, Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is running to "Club Foot" by Kasabian.


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa leaned casually against the wall as she waited for Clarke’s mind to process her presence. It was unfair of her, she knew: Clarke had never liked surprises, and Lexa had already given her a big one by showing up at Anya’s side a few days before. Having said that, Lexa had graciously taken the wheel in that interaction to save Clarke any unnecessary awkwardness in front of her coworkers. She had even offered Clarke her cell number, so she might call to diffuse whatever tension remained between them – not that Clarke had taken advantage of it.

Lexa didn’t begrudge her the time it took to recalibrate, but now that Anya had taken the Niagara case, there was no room for avoidance behaviours. She preferred to tear off the bandage, and so, when Clarke’s assistant (Harper?) had announced that Clarke was running a little late and would be needing a change of clothes, Lexa had happily ( _A little_ too _happily_ …) offered to do the honours. 

“We can run over some strategies for dealing with Echo,” she had explained easily with a nonchalant smile. “No worries.”

Harper had smiled sweetly and handed over the clothes before returning to her emails. 

So here she now found herself, appraising Clarke with an outwardly cool demeanour. Inwardly, she anxiously avoided letting her gaze fall to where Clarke’s blouse clung with reckless abandon to her chest. _Professionalism_. 

Clarke, meanwhile, was cycling rapidly through expressions of shock, confusion, embarrassment, and anger, ultimately settling on a politely indignant frown. Lexa wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the lack of welcome somehow failed to surprise. 

“Lexa…” she said slowly, her faculties recovering. “What are you – _Those_ are mine.” 

She made to snatch the hangers from Lexa’s hand, the frown evolving into a flinty glare when Lexa refused to let go, forcing her to step closer to properly wrest them from her fingers. Lexa found herself lacking the tact to hide a faint smirk at the effort, which did nothing to dull the edge in Clarke’s look. 

Finally taking possession of her clothing, Clarke arched an irate eyebrow at her before turning on her heel and strutting down the hall. Lexa watched her go until Clarke, realizing she was not being followed, stopped to throw an ever-so-slightly-scathing look over her shoulder.

“Are you coming?”

Lexa resisted the urge to answer, and, pursing her lips over a small smile, pushed herself off the wall into Clarke’s wake. She strolled easily behind Clarke, long, relaxed strides timed to Clarke’s short, brusque ones. It was the respectful thing to do, she felt, as they made their way past several cubicles in the open office space. The people here were Clarke’s colleagues and employees after all, and as much as Lexa wanted to push Clarke’s buttons privately, she wasn’t interested in undermining her publically. So instead, she followed Clarke’s lead, trying not to pay too much mind to the mingled scents of coffee, jasmine, and cyclamen that trailed after her. 

When they finally reached the restrooms, Clarke walked straight in, pushing the door wide as she passed through. Lexa dutifully followed to find herself in a spacious bathroom of clean, minimalist design, darker, but not unlike the offices outside. With the work day just starting, there were only a few women still there, applying the finishing touches to their makeup. As Clarke made her way towards the largest stall at the back of the room however, they quickly and apologetically bustled out the door.

_That’s new_.

If Clarke noticed the effect of her presence on her staff, she gave no indication, quickly entering the stall and snapping the door shut behind her. Lexa, cautiously taking a seat on the trim, white leather cabriole nearby, caught the sound of a deep sigh from beyond the door. Then Clarke began to undress. Lexa waited. 

***

Clarke didn’t mean to be rude. Not truly. She wasn’t angry with Lexa, she had been over and over it in her head already. She understood _why_ Lexa had left, understood that Lexa had been out on a limb for the DA’s case to begin with, understood that Lexa had lost so much by trying to help. But for some reason, seeing Lexa standing there as she pushed out of the stairwell had sent a surge of rage through her belly, so she had run with it. 

_This isn’t rage, you fucking idiot._

_Shut up._

Lexa, for her part, wasn’t making it hard to carry on with… _whatever_ Clarke decided was an appropriate interpretation of her own emotions, acting like a little shit, and looking… like she did. 

Suddenly, Clarke’s mind flashed back to the dream she had woken up to that morning; she winced as she unintentionally slammed the door to her stall. _Jesus Christ, calm down_. 

Outside the stall, she could hear Lexa sitting quietly. It was easier, she felt, now that she couldn’t _see_ her. Easier to think. Easier to… _breathe_. She sighed audibly, again feeling self-conscious of how noisy she was being, and cursing inwardly. _Come on, get yourself together, fuck_! and then _I fucking hate you, Anya_. 

Stepping out of her heels for the second time in the last ten minutes, she began unbuttoning her soiled blouse. The coffee had left a pale stain on the snowy fabric that she figured would come out in the wash. Glancing at the label however, she made a mental note to send it for dry cleaning. Just in case.

She hung the blouse from one of the chrome hooks on the back of the door, her skirt following shortly thereafter. Then, she stopped. From beyond the door, she could hear a faint, but unmistakable _tapping_. She resisted the urge to raise her voice.

“If you’re bored, you are _more_ than welcome to wait in my office.”

_Nice, Griffin. That wasn’t rude at all…_

Lexa tapped her heel a couple more times before stopping. “I’m not bored,” came the reply. She sounded bored. But she also sounded like she was smiling. 

Clarke pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and didn’t say another word. 

Steeling herself, she climbed into the new skirt Harper had selected for her, sleek and black with leather panelling. She had bought the skirt a while ago, months now, even, but had never yet removed it from its home in the work closet that she largely ignored. With more than a little relief, she slid it easily up her body, humming her approval as she found it still fit.

When she turned to the top however, she swore under her breath. 

There was a reason why the royal blue peplum blouse was in her work closet. Ever since Clarke had broken up with Finn, she had lived alone (Charlotte excepted). That had caused a number of changes in Clarke’s life, on a large and small scale. She now had to do all the dishes. She had to learn how to cook. She _still_ didn’t know how to fix her TV – on the odd occasions she used it – when the connection went haywire (she had resigned herself to waiting it out, at this point; she didn’t really have time for TV anyway). 

Another side effect of living alone was that certain items of clothing – granted, they were few and far between – could no longer be worn, not because she didn’t want to, but because they simply required a second pair of hands to be properly donned. Like this blouse. For example. 

_Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me – SHUT UP!_

_I hate today. Today is the worst day. There will never be a day worse than today._

She stubbornly tried not to let that thought be comforting. 

Putting the blouse back on its hanger, she experimentally did up the zipper before trying to force the top over her body. As expected, she failed to stretch the fitted waist over her tits. Sighing, she manoeuvered the top back off over her shoulders, unzipped it completely, and slipped it over her front before retrieving the rest of her things and marching from the stall. 

Lexa was sitting tall on the edge of the couch, green eyes fixing on her immediately as she opened the door. For all the tension that Clarke felt in her belly at the sight of her, Lexa seemed comparatively tranquil, she noted. Thinking back, Clarke remembered how painfully straight Lexa had sat at the table in her apartment those years ago, how she had often seemed so incapable of calm. She hadn’t been able to escape all peace, of course, but for whatever reason, in this moment, she felt she was staring at someone else. This Lexa sat just as straight as the old one had, but the posture somehow seemed less restrictive now, like a dancer who, while always controlled in their movements, was ever flexible in their body. 

She felt herself softening slightly at the revelation, and nearly gave in to it – until Lexa’s mouth started to quirk. 

“You’re staring, Clarke.”

Clearing her throat, Clarke took a few steps closer to dump some of her load onto the couch next to Lexa, before making her way over to the mirror with her makeup bag. She stifled a contented hum as Lexa’s reflection noticed the open back of her blouse, her face contorting ever so slightly with surprise and thinly veiled desire.

She arched a saucy eyebrow and coaxed the reflection’s gaze back to her own. “So are you.” Absently, she directed her attention to her own reflection and began powdering her nose. “I’m going to need you to zip me up,” she added, her voice impressively steady for all her internal turmoil. 

It took Lexa a moment to stand up. Clarke adamantly refused to watch the graceful reflection, intent on her own as she delicately swept a coat of mascara onto her lashes. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea. 

Though she couldn’t _see_ Lexa approaching behind her, she could _hear_ the click of her shoes against the floor, tantalizingly slow. Each step seemed to reverberate through Clarke’s core, the internal quakes soon mirrored by tremors in her hands. Too tense. _Way_ too tense. 

When the clicks stopped immediately behind her, she found herself unable to continue, and anxiously closed the tube, placing it back in her makeup bag. When she lifted her eyes back to the mirror, they locked on the parallel gaze peering from over her right shoulder. 

Away from the immediate light above the mirror, Lexa’s face was highly contrasted, the tint of her skin darker than true, and her large green eyes arrestingly bright. Clarke felt her breath catch at the back of her throat involuntarily, and she swallowed it, bracing herself carefully against the edge of the vanity. 

She didn’t look away. She couldn’t. 

Lexa waited the length of a breath before taking a final step forward, her gaze still trained on Clarke’s. Her hands quickly and easily found the two halves of the back of Clarke’s blouse, and Clarke’s pulse was suddenly clamouring against the walls of her veins, anticipation flooding through her belly like wildfire. 

The eyes over her shoulder glanced away then, and Lexa began fiddling with the base of the zipper, fitting the ends together. It felt like an eternity before she began to drag it slowly up Clarke’s spine, sealing in the heat emanating from her back. 

The track was smooth until it reached the top of her lower back, where it suddenly hitched. Lexa tussled with it kindly for a few moments to no avail. Just as Clarke resolved to tell her not to worry, a firm hand pressed to the small of her back, and she forgot how to breathe. 

She didn’t feel the rest of the zipper’s path to her neck, so focused was she on that _hand_. When it was over, she felt two hands spread at her hips as Lexa leaned forward to her ear and breathed “You’re done.”

Then, the door flew open.


End file.
